Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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The ticking of silence

The mind becomes a ticking
time bomb, silence
settling like a fog.
Questions have no answers
and the weight of every one of them
smothers
what you do have.
You cannot breathe, for the journey
your mind takes you on
a whirlwind of emotions
you run down rabbit holes
better suited to a tale of Alice
and the person you wish to be
is masked
by this temporary madness …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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©2020 Christine Kelly
All Rights Reserved.

Photograph by the author

 


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We the People


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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© 2020 Christine Kelly

All Rights Reserved

Photograph by author


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Saturday Storms

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It’s raining, a drink of water after parched days. The ground was littered with odd drops, scattered randomly, before the thunder came and the heavens opened.

The rain always stops me in my tracks. I wait. I watch. I wonder. And my heart aches with some unfathomable feeling that soaks me to my core with a haunting want 


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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© 2020 Christine Kelly

All Rights Reserved

Photo by Nadia Valko on Unsplash


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Denouement

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The ivories he tickles
are behind her eyes
accidentals touched
strings struck
 …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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© 2020 Christine Kelly

All Rights Reserved.

Photograph: my own


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Five days

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Five days
and you will get on a jet plane
winging your way westward.
So much,
so little
time
to have …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

Find the complete version here.

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©2019 Christine Kelly

All Rights Reserved.

Photograph by the author


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Not a girl of summer

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I am not a girl of Summer
though the sea runs through my veins
and I would happily swim
from dawn to dusk.

I am not a Coppertone baby
with flowing yellow hair,
golden strands gleaming
in the sun,
perfection of tan skin
and white smiles.

I am a girl of Autumn,
of Winter
burnished leaves and snowy landscapes
my favorite things;
books and fires and sweaters and long walks
my pleasures.

I am the pale girl
with hair brown as a sable coat,
soft and rich and full of depth.
But
it is when its copper threads catch the sun
unexpectedly
you’re given a hint of the fiery and passionate nature
oft hidden
revealed to few
known intimately
only to one.

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© SirenSong1208


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Once more, with feeling

Beginnings,
new dawn breaks
with a whisper. Layers
peeled back like blankets
or the first glimpse of skin
in summer;
winter, a recent memory.
Left hand foraging for comfort …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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© 2020 Christine Kelly
All Rights Reserved

Photograph by author

 


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Writing true

Sometimes
writing is like slipping
off your clothes 
in the waning light of day.
Effortless
exhalation on a sigh.
Most often it is retching
in solitude, a heaving up
of your insides.
Results that are never pretty,
generally painful
but necessary …


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

Find the complete version here.

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©2020 Christine Kelly
All Rights Reserved.

Photograph by the author

 


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Sentimental stirrings

Waylaid by sentimental stirrings,
unintentional memories
found folded in my pocket.

The faint scent of those yesterdays
clinging to the paper


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You for Poetry Sunday

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©2020 Christine Kelly

Photograph by the author


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How Swiftly Change Comes When We Aren’t Looking

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Life as we know it

Joan Didion said in her memoir, “The Year of Magical Thinking,” ‘You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.’

Life as I knew it ended years ago. My marriage, which had been on a slow march toward its end from inception, kept me engrossed and distracted with  and a gradual and normalizing creep of isolation.

During this time, my mother was ill, though none of us knew it. We attributed her forgetfulness to aging. We had no clue that her brain was also on that slow march to disintegration. I reflect when I first realized I’d lost her, or a portion of her, and though there were many moments over the years I recall as suspect, the first moment emblazoned in my memory as a loss is when I turned 50.

I am the youngest of three children and the only girl — my mother and I have had a close relationship. Forgetting my birthday is not something she would have done. But, she did. At the time, alarm bells did not ring, quite possibly because of the pain and turmoil in my marriage. As I’ve said, I was distracted, and it’s challenging to fight a battle on two fronts.


Published on Medium: P.S. I Love You

Find the complete version here.

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© 2020 Christine Kelly

All Rights Reserved

Photograph by the author